Curse, Schmurse
by notapepper
Summary: The evening after the events of 3x08, Jemma finds Fitz in his room.


Jemma broke the kiss first, her eyes drifting open reluctantly in a war between savoring the imprint of his lips and drinking in the blue adoration of his eyes.

"We're _not_ cursed." She glanced at his ear, rubbing the delicate skin there with her thumb.

He exhaled hard. "Jemma. I told you earlier, it's not—" He stilled, but made no move to dodge the tiny kisses she began to stamp along his jaw. "You've only _just_ told me you're in love with another man," he pleaded. His Adam's apple bobbed as he fought against the urge to back her into the door of his bunk.

Her exasperated huff washed hot against his neck. "That's not what I said."

"Jemma, I was there."

"As was I." She drew back and faced him, decisive. "You asked me if I love him. And, I suppose I do."

His shoulders tensed under her hands, so she rushed ahead, breathless. "But Fitz," she tipped her forehead against his, drawing both their faces down. "That's not the same thing as being in love with him."

"C'mon, Jemma," he groaned quietly. "Don't let's argue semantics, yeah?"

"Better yet, let's not argue at all," she whispered hopefully. "I'd much rather you kissed me again."

His chest swelled with hope even as he reminded himself that she was still confused. _But then why seek me out?_ Jemma was capable of anything she set her mind to, but never cruelty. Not deliberately.

She paused, her lips only millimeters from his, breaths mingling as she murmured, "I love you, Fitz. And the only thing that's cursed about us is that we refuse to understand one another."

He wanted to believe her. _God_ , he wanted it so much it tightened around his heart like the strings on a freshly tuned piano. But if he kissed her now, would she regret it? Or worse, blame him for it when Mr. Perfect got back? He wasn't sure he had the self-control to deny her, not for reasons based on _mights_ and _coulds_ , not when she was warm and soft under his hands, honey eyes begging him to understand.

Her mouth brushed over his, careful as a first snow and just as ephemeral. It was too much. Burying himself in that kiss, Fitz let his protests evaporate, lost amidst an armful of promise and nostalgia altogether. When she finally stepped back, bottom lip caught between her teeth and eyes sparkling towards his bed, he decided to take her at her word.

"Are you _sure?_ " His hooded gaze locked on hers. "Because, Jemma, I'm _tryin'_ — and, I know, I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, but I need to know—"

"I'm sure," she insisted, elation plucking at the corner of her mouth. Her lips traveled the stubbled path from chin to clavicle and back, teeth scraping softly as her nails ran into his hair. "Though I could do without you comparing me to a horse."

He felt a chuckle rise in his own throat. "Did I say horse?" He blinked innocently. "I meant unicorn."

"Mmm," she hummed, her fingers traveling over his shirt to pull at his collar. "Because that's so much better."

"It is," he grinned, catching her lips again. "Unicorns are magic. But even more impressive, they're—"

"Scotland's national animal, I _know_." The eyeroll punctuating her sentence was somewhat spoiled by the sunbeam smile that was keeping her from kissing him properly. "Honestly, Fitz. Curses? Unicorns?" She ran her palms over his ribcage, nudging him backwards as her nose grazed his cheek. "You're meant to be a scientist." The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. "But even if — for the sake of argument, mind you — we _were_ under some sort of curse…" Her mouth curled into a smirk. "I've heard kisses like ours have a tendency to _break_ those."

 _True love's kiss._ Fitz closed his eyes, emotion tugging at him like quicksand. He'd never tried to put a name to what he felt, but there was Jemma, sweeping away the _not_ to arrive at the _is_. He couldn't doubt her, not when she had so perfectly captured the truth of the matter. _And besides, how could anyone argue against true love?_

"Well, then," Fitz countered, landing heavily on the mattress and pulling her into his lap. He schooled his face to seriousness. "In order to maximize our curse-breaking chances, I recommend we kiss as often as possible."

Her answering smile became a caress, lashes aflutter and head fuzzy with happiness as he pressed her backwards into the pillows.

It was the scientific method at its finest.

* * *

For my buddy Pi, who wanted some happy to balance out canon angst. Hope it helped!

It was a tough sell to make this fluffy, you guys. I kept going back to this line:  
The only thing their kisses would end up breaking, Fitz suspected, was his heart.

(I ultimately decided I couldn't use it and keep the thing happy, but here it is for all my fellow angst-lovin' monsters out in the Fitzsimmonsphere! Thanks for reading!)


End file.
